


Winners Never Quit and Quitters Never Win

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Angry Sex, Coming In Pants, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Politics, Power Play, Rough Kissing, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: Rumours have frequently circulated in Tory circles that Clegg, in highly pressurised coalition talks after the election, managed to outmanoeuvre Cameron by intimating he had been offered more by Labour in parallel post-election talks than was actually the case..."We clearly need Machiavellian bastard!Nick seducing helpless, desperate David into the coalition agreement. Smug and confident, he just waltzes in, and David would do anything, anything for him to form a coalition." Written for this prompt at the uk_lolitics anon kink!meme.





	Winners Never Quit and Quitters Never Win

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2010 to Livejournal.
> 
> Written for the aforementioned prompt at the uk_lolitics anon kink!meme.
> 
> *~*~*~*
> 
> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

"The thing is: we can talk about proportional representation, the tax threshold, Trident and so on - until the cows come home - but we all know this boils down to one question," Nick gestured, his arms as animated as ever. The structured method in which he had approached this meeting, albeit a _secret_ engagement held within the depths of this building after-dark, was very bullet-pointed, very repetitive, and on the whole, very _Nick. _On the other hand, the proximity of Clegg's face from Cameron's was becoming increasingly close - until David blushed visibly at the _discomfort_ of having the younger man whispering into the shell of his ear, Nick's breath tracing his hairline and making him shudder - which was very _different_ to the way he was used to the Liberal doing business. There was a low growl, _"How much do you want it, Dave?"_

"I don't follow," David kept his cool for now, and played the naivety card. He _was_ naive; he didn't know what was happening - he didn't know what his fellow politician had up his sleeve. Several aces, no doubt, he thought - as the warm breath became suddenly absent from that tender spot. And then he could think coherently again.  
  
"What's in it for me?" was a variant on the earlier phrase but was still, nonetheless, as confusing as his opening gambit. Clegg strolled by the window and closed the curtains. That appeared to be an ominous sign in itself.  
  
"You would be my deputy, of course."  
  
"That's appreciated, _Sheriff_... But what would you be willing to do _now_ to show me you're not wasting my time? Let's say - you put down a sort of _deposit_ on this deal. You must understand that I'm a very busy man with a very busy week ahead of me. You could be _too_, if you _wanted_ to be," Nick grinned. "However, if you don't do something soon, I'll be making arrangements with Gordon Brown on the phone before I've even left your office. And we wouldn't want that, _would we? _" The words were coarse and rough - rasping, they ripped through his voice like a frayed metal rope having its fibres broken by a saw - but there was something also present in the nature of his vocabulary which was becoming ever-more vulgar by the minute. "Go on... do something rash. I dare you..."  
  
Returning to the centre of the room, where David was still rooted to his leather-upholstered chair - where Nick had been given a wooden box in comparison to sit and squirm upon throughout this meeting, in order to make his host feel like a prince and himself feel like the pauper - he asserted an authority which made Cameron veritably _jump_. But when you analysed the situation for what it really was, Clegg _did_ have him by the balls; he was the kingmaker. His word was final in this meeting and, whatever it was, would decide David's fate. It would have been expected that he'd do anything, _anything -_ regardless of how ever degrading - to lure Nick over to the Tory party.  
  
And that's precisely what the irritating, fence-sitting smarmbag aimed to put him through, now wasn't it? Worse still - and Nick probably _knew_ it - David found him, against his better judgement and all of the reasons detailed above, obscenely attractive, charming and witty - and every part of him was going to have to yield to him, body, mind and soul - with at least half of his (okay so, _two_ of his) organs already betraying his innermost thoughts even now. The first was his heart, currently hammering itself into a rabid frenzy. The other... _Well_...  
  
Cameron chanced that Clegg might be an old romantic, hoping he'd accept a _token_ of affection, or a _brief_ flirtation - rather than taking all he could take from him. He didn't stand to attention immediately, for this would have been a sure mark of defeat; he craned his neck whilst Nick was still within reach of his sitting position, and hissed, "I can give you many things... and I've outlined them in my offer. It's a fair offer, and you'll get nothing more." On an end note, he grazed his faint, baby-faced stubble against the the Lib Dem's cheek as he pulled away, provocatively. But this became quite the own goal, as new masculine scents invaded his nostrils, bringing further excitement to his own loins.

_Especially_ upon the point that Nick noticed the slightly stiffening bulge in his suit trousers - which, at first, Clegg thought he'd imagined, but had confirmed his suspicions by taking a hold of the bunched material. Well, this proved that David had greater knowledge of the conversation at hand than he had _initially_ disclosed. Everybody in the room now knew this wasn't about politics. Or was it, in fact, _really _about politics?  
  
"Oh, I say," he mocked him, with relish. "You really do want this coalition, don't you? More than I could ever have dreamed..." He teasingly palmed the Conservative's crotch, who probably wished he'd taken the chance to stand when he could, and Nick could have literally sworn (and he _could_ have - the temptation was killing him; he wanted to make his move; to toy with the emotions of the future Prime Minister, who could only be made so on his word) that David had adjusted his hips for better contact.  
  
"And it isn't only my seats that you want, is it?" he went on, delighting in the gentle writhing he elicited with surprising ease from his counterpart. "You're gagging for it, aren't you? How long has it been since you married Sam?"  
  
"Fourteen years in June," Cameron was more angered than alarmed with himself for answering that.  
  
"So it's been _that_ long since you had sex with another person?" Nick sharply puffed - sounded almost offended by the confession - in what must have been some attempt at sarcasm. Assuming, that was, that his friend had been faithful. And, actually, he _had_. "That long, David... since you had sex with another..." he subliminally groped his own, admittedly hardening, cock through his slacks, and slowly exhaled as he spoke, "..._person_."  
  
The older man swallowed, his tongue practically curling back on its haunches and sitting in his windpipe, rendering him silent, _choked_. He found himself nodding in desperation; it had _indeed_ been a long time since he had had sex with another... _person._ What was he even thinking? He couldn't seriously entertain this proposal.

"You're still a young, virile man, Dave... you have needs and urges," the Liberal Democrat chided. "I understand that because I feel them too." He thought it might help if he added, quietly, "Ones which Miriam doesn't know about..."  
  
Cameron was immediately able to empathise; Sam knew nothing of his dabbling with men as a youth, and would probably be disgusted with him were she to ever find out.  
  
"And I was hoping we could come to some sort of arrangement... you know - we _are_ intelligent men... to work this out. I remember the way you looked at me when we were locked in that room together, Dave - for a whole forty-five minutes. I know you want to give me what I want..."  
  
David Cameron was no longer the Tory leader - not in the sense that if these negotiations went on to fall through, he'd consider stepping down from his post - he had already rung Samantha on the phone and discussed how he would do exactly the opposite. No - David Cameron was not a Tory leader; he was a small and timid rabbit, caught in the headlights, or left in its hutch alone without water or kibble for days on end. And this was his Watership Down. He was so baffled, bemused and inexplicably turned on, that he didn't know whether Clegg was putting forward his party's proposals or luring him into a hot and sweaty fuck. Because that was what bunnies did at the end of the day, _wasn't_ it? And Nick's fur was damp and matted from their heated debate thus far, as the other man ran a hand through his own hair and over his forehead. It was nearly midnight and he was tired; tired of waiting for David to twig on. He was going to have to make this plain for him.  
  
"Labour have offered me more... A hell of a lot more. More than you could ever offer me without being strung up by your backbenchers - but you can still have me _and_ my party - you can be the winner in all of this... by _effectively_ giving me less, but still coming out on top politically," Nick explained, finally bringing some clarification to what had been a ping-pong game of innuendo and lusty glances. "If you give me _what I want._"  
  
"Wh-what do I have to do for this honour?"  
  
"Suck me off," he whispered, licking his lips as quickly as he'd said it; he didn't want to prolong the agony for himself. He was dying inside, honestly, and wanted this chat to be done and dusted with. Clegg _seemed_ confident, but the earlier David realised that he was genuinely _terrified_ \- as yellow as his party's badge - and embarrassed beyond belief at requesting this from him - the sooner these talks would be over and he might end up with absolutely nothing. He managed to put all of this aside, keeping up the facade, which wasn't too hard when he realised how unbelievably horny he was, "I find you far more aesthetically pleasing than Brown - and I cannot deny it: my ego would benefit from seeing you at my feet."  
  
"Don't do this," Cameron winced. It wasn't so much the sordidness of the sex act which he would, in all honesty, probably endure and possibly enjoy. It was the fact that - all being well and the coalition going ahead - they would be working together every day. They couldn't have this hanging over them for a full term of government. "I _know_ you, Nick..."  
  
"You know _nothing_ \- otherwise you'd have your lousy majority!"  
  
"I know you," David commenced again, in hesitation. "I can tell you're a man who got into politics for all the right reasons - like me. And you'd want to get your party into this government fair and square - with the pair of us on an equal footing. The very meaning of a coalition."  
  
Nick raised his hands, rather cautiously, but in a subtly _threatening_ manner - perhaps perceived so only by his partner, who was expecting the worst after such a long and deliberate pause - until they were in line with David's shoulders. Would they curl, finger by finger, into a fist set to slam straight into his jaw? Would they form C-shapes which would leave the kind of indentations still visible on his neck as he lied dead on a mortuary slab, morgue-bound mere days after he'd throttled him to death? Or would they sharply grab his hair, forcefully dragging him down to the floor by his balding locks? He didn't know. But he'd never seen it in Nick to hurt him. In truth, he wasn't actually going to.  
  
"Bastard," Clegg cursed, finally shifting from his robot-like stance. He used those hands - oh yes, he used them alright - to grip a hold of Cameron by his sides and drag him upwards into the throes of a kiss. It may have been, at first, a chaste and proper affair. However, that was due to the instant dumbfoundedness of David, who was most puzzled to have gone one minute from cowering in the corner, to the next where we was being pinned to the _wall_, hungrily, in _lust_. Nick needed more: he opened his mouth around the Tory's and didn't particularly care if he reciprocated or not, for he was simply getting his _own_ gratification from the kiss. Thirty seconds later, when everybody had caught up with proceedings, there was no question of whether Dave had wanted to join in. Sparks of electricity were soaring here, there and everywhere - caused by the duelling of two tongues twisting in unison - like an empty tin of soup being carved open by an angle grinder.  
  
Cameron finally conceded for a moment, but - obviously - he hoped he might be able to turn things around to his advantage at the first opportunity of Nick lowering his guard.  
  
"Just... fucking,_ yes_," David moaned against the side of his cheek.  
  
"What to?"  
  
"_Anything_... I promise," came the reply. But there were ulterior motives to his actions - even if you may be forgiven for not automatically assuming this - watching a man of David's social stature and class rendered to an unstoppable string of swear-words, sighs and unintentionally loud slurps. His fingers roamed the taut material which stretched across the Liberal's behind as he bent over (an inch or so taller when the pair were standing, and at least a foot now one of them was sat) and he pressed his nails into the flesh of his arse possessively. This way he'd be able to have his cake and eat it too; he'd have Clegg to satisfy whatever cravings he may be experiencing, whilst also regaining dominance by snatching back some control over the situation.  
  
He didn't bank though, on what Nick Clegg would do to deter him. Again, whether it was out of lust or the desire to politically manipulate him, he didn't know, but he seemed to know _just_ what to do to halt Cameron in his tracks - pushing - literally _pushing_ \- and quite violently too - David onto the smooth surface of the desk, and sending important paperwork flying in all directions and an anglepoise lamp down by the side of the desk until it was hanging on purely by its wire. He had already upped the ante another notch by tugging off David's half-undone trousers, having made light work of his belt buckle, and out-rightly ignoring the limitations of the fly - he nearly broke the zip trying to wriggle them free. And Cameron's trews were quickly to his knees.  
  
A husky, "No..." got stuck in David's throat as it came out, but his sodden underwear was a give-away to what he really yearned for.  
  
"You're gorgeous," Nick suspired, taking in the sight before him as he ran hands across Tory thighs. "It was a crime to call you 'aesthetically pleasing'." At once, he became prostrate, with the top part of his frame hunched entirely over David - parallel to the Conservative MP's body, whose legs were dangling off the edge so casually now, without meaning or purpose. Well, Clegg would give him a reason for being there that he wasn't likely to _bloody forget._ "You're fucking... you're fucking so sexy... And you wonder why I came to discuss a coalition with you, when Gordon looks like a fucking troll," his hand dipped into David's boxer shorts until only Nick's wrist was on-show and, as he began to wank him off, the motion was all but a blur. Or was that just because everything in the world - everything he trusted and believed in was falling apart for Cameron - a massive blurred image. "I wanted my cock in your mouth tonight, but you offered me your cock in my hand, and your tongue in my mouth - and, hey, we're all open to negotiation, aren't we?"

David whimpered and Nick continued, "Come for me, David - fucking come for me, and you can have it all."  
  
Cameron suddenly tensed and cried out into the atmosphere, glad for the closed curtains and soundproof walls, as they allowed him vent his frustrations at full volume and yet still rouse no suspicion from his colleagues - even though he _hoped_ that they had all gone home at this hour. White, hot liquid seeped through the dark blue cotton - rolling along the mound of his softening prick, like a lone tear, or Tippex erasing a mistake. And David couldn't help but think that he'd made one. He’d lost his _last_ bartering tool. The Liberal Democrat leader had stormed in here, Machiavellian in approach, and raped, and pillaged, and taken all he'd asked for like he knew he could. There was nothing left in the poor politician to destroy, and Nick would undoubtedly move on to Labour to form what everyone predicted and expected of him; a Lib/Lab pact.  
  
But to his surprise, Clegg was a man of his word. "I trust I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then? I'll hang on long enough to make it all look like a tough decision... and buy enough time for Sam to fish out a decent frock for when you go to the palace." He smiled as he turned to slowly walk away, leaving David feverishly convulsing in post-coital what-- Confusion? Relief? Satiation? And then finally closed the office door, knowing - in fact - that he had opened so many _others_ for himself and his party. Maybe that had been the master-plan all along... Or maybe Clegg had just been lucky to discover that Cameron was a loose little slut, who happened to fight his political battles in a way Nick _highly_ approved of. Because, unlike the traditional debating, it was the sort of political battle he _always_ knew he'd win.


End file.
